


Hanging By A Thread

by chronicopheliac



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 'cause it's me, Aftercare, Dom Will, Fluff and Smut, Fucking Machines, Kinbaku, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Sub Hannibal, Teasing, Will is a Jerk, because obviously there's fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/pseuds/chronicopheliac
Summary: Will's got Hannibal all tied up and has his way with him. Pretty straightforward. (best summary ever??)





	Hanging By A Thread

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's a link to the Tumblr post](http://chronicopheliac.tumblr.com/post/166837868775/eeeeeee-so-im-dying-a-million-times-because-look) because there is some TOTALLY AMAZING AND FABULOUS ART to go with this by [felidfannibal/felideafatigue](http://felidfannibal.tumblr.com) and you MUST GO SEE IT!

A sharp tug lifts Hannibal’s hips from the bed. He grunts. “Will.”

“Hmm?” Will tightens the loop and brings the rope around once, twice, and a third time at the centre of Hannibal’s back.

“While I understand I'm to be in the submissive role,” Hannibal says through gritted teeth, “is it necessary for you to be so… brutish?”

“If you don't like it, we can stop this at any time. Or did you forget--”

“I haven't forgotten.”

Will makes another loop and attaches it to the rope around Hannibal’s wrists.  “Good.” He releases the rope to test its strength. It holds. “You still all right?”

Hannibal is suspended just above the bed, arms tied behind his back. There are ropes tied to the bed, to keep him from swinging too much. If he angles his hips just right, he can barely brush his cock against the sheets. It denies him any kind of relief. “As I can be.”

Will gives Hannibal’s ass a firm slap. “Perfect.”

“I do try to keep myself in shape--”

“Shut the fuck up, Hannibal. You know I was talking about the rope.”

Hannibal sighs. “And here I thought perhaps you'd finally deigned to pay me a compliment.”

Will takes the bottle of lube from the nightstand, and coats his fingers. “I've complimented you.”

“Hardly.”

“I've said plenty of nice things.” Will probes with a gentle touch, down along the cleft of Hannibal’s ass. “I told you your casserole last night was the best I ever had.”

Arching his back, Hannibal strains against the ropes. His upper lip curls. “It was baked ziti.”

“By definition, a casserole. Okay. How about last week?” Will presses a finger inside, to the first knuckle. “I said that new suit looked good on you.”

Lube drips down the underside of Hannibal’s balls. It tickles.

“You said it between bouts of--” A grunt, as Will’s finger pushes all the way in, “--uproarious laughter.”

The memory makes Will snort. He slides his finger in and out, until Hannibal feels loose enough for another. He is less gentle with two fingers. “Well the pants were pretty tight. But it  _ did _  look good.”

Hannibal moans, straining again to push himself back onto Will’s fingers. But Will’s work is flawless, and the rope doesn’t give. “Do you find it - ah - difficult to… give compliments without conditions?”

“Only with you.” Will works his fingers faster. Merciless. He avoids giving Hannibal what he wants.

“Do you have - ungh - trouble with intimacy, Will?”

With an exasperated sigh, Will removes his fingers and slaps Hannibal’s ass again. “What did I tell you about psychoanalysis in the bedroom? Don’t make me gag you.”

Hannibal bites back the ‘you wouldn’t dare’ on the tip of his tongue. Best not to provoke Will’s temper. At least, not now.

Instead, he ducks his head. Silent. His submission draws a pleased growl from Will. He’s rewarded with Will’s fingers, roughly fucking into him. Stretching and teasing.

Not until Hannibal is gasping and writhing with frustration does Will relent. He pulls away and drags the machine over from the corner. Its design was rather simple - Will had insisted on building it himself. He’d reasoned it would be cheaper, and easier not to have to ship it from elsewhere.

The dildo is an absurd shade of pearlescent purple (Will’s choice, of course), and curves toward the end. Hannibal had suggested making a mould of Will’s penis, but Will dismissed the idea. The machine was supposed to maintain a distance between them. Remove the warmth of intimacy and turn Hannibal’s pleasure into something Will could control with cold precision. Hannibal argued there was a certain intimacy in knowing Will made the machine. As though it were an extension of Will’s body.

Hannibal expects the mould kit to arrive tomorrow.

Will coats the dildo with a liberal amount of lube. He lines it up against Hannibal’s hole and teases it over the loosened muscle. He hums with satisfaction, stroking a hand down Hannibal’s back. The rope is an infuriating barrier against the feel of Will’s skin.

“Ready?”

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“Not really.”

Though Hannibal can’t see him from his position, he can hear the smile in Will’s voice. Wicked boy.

The machine is plugged in, and Will turns the dial to the lowest setting. The dildo presses inside easily. But oh-so excruciatingly slow. Hannibal breathes out through his nose, relaxing every muscle as much as he’s able. The ropes dig into his skin.

Will strokes and spreads Hannibal’s ass, watching the dildo slide deeper. As it shifts back, he adjusts the position of the machine so it doesn’t slip out.

It’s far, far too slow. “Do you mean to put me to sleep, Will?”

“Would you rather I let the rubber dick slam against your ass cheek?”

“Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

“Are you seriously complaining right now?” Still, Will turns the dial up a notch.

It’s still not fast enough, but at least there’s _ _ friction _ _. And oh, finally the dildo thrusts deep enough to hit _ _ there _ _. The pressure isn’t quite right, and the angle’s a bit off, but it nonetheless sends a shock of euphoria through Hannibal’s body.

“Merely, ah, critiquing.”

Will leans in and speaks against Hannibal’s ear. “Maybe instead of gagging you, I’ll just stop right here. I’ve got plenty of other things to do.”

A shiver runs down Hannibal’s spine. “My apologies. Carry on as you see fit.”

“Damn right I will.”

Another notch on the dial. Hannibal is acutely aware of the precise, mechanical way the toy moves. A pace only a machine can maintain. Arousal hums beneath Hannibal’s skin, the steady build curling his toes. He can’t hold back a deep moan.

Will turns the dial back down.

The pressure at the base of Hannibal’s cock eases, and he growls in frustration. “ _ Will. _ ”

“Oh, sorry. Were you enjoying that?”

“Is there something y-you - mmnh - expect me to do to… earn my pleasure?”

“Mm. Hadn’t thought of that.” Will’s voice has a breathy quality to it. Arousal. “But no. Not tonight.”

Will turns the dial up again. Higher. A punishing rhythm that has Hannibal straining and writhing against the ropes. He moans on every breath, reeling with pleasure. He tries rocking his hips, chasing more stimulation against the sheets. He’s so close. So, so close--

The machine stops.

“W-Will… please…”

“Please what?”

“... The ropes are beginning to cut off my circulation.” Hannibal wriggles his hands.

“Is that the problem? I can untie you.” Will tugs at the rope around Hannibal’s wrists.

“No! No, that’s… Please, Will. I want…”

“Yes?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Hannibal takes a breath. It’s not that he has any reservations about being tied up. No more than he does being on his knees. Particularly for Will. But asking - no,  _ begging _  for release is like giving up some part of himself. A part he’s held close for many years.

It’s as though up to now, there was still a piece of Hannibal’s mask hanging on. When Hannibal finally lets go, he feels intensely vulnerable. Raw and exposed in a way he’s never before experienced.

With that thought comes revelation. Of course, that is what Will wants. He wants to possess Hannibal thoroughly. And Hannibal can’t find it in himself to deny him.

“Please, Will. Let me come. I beg you… allow me release.”

The magic words.

Will strokes the back of Hannibal’s head, and presses a kiss to his crown. He turns the dial up once again.

The spike of pleasure is immediate. It doesn’t take long for the pressure to build again. Hannibal’s moans come from deep inside, nearly drowning out the sound of the motor. He’s so very close, dizzy with elation.

There is a moment where everything goes black. As if the world outside of himself ceases to exist. And then, a burst of colour, a sharp pull from deep inside. Hannibal clenches around the toy, and comes.

He trembles all over. Tears sting his eyes. The dildo works into him with its relentless, even pace. His nerves are so oversensitized, he thinks he might die. Not a bad way to go.

The machine is shut off, and pulled away. Will’s hands are on him, stroking over his body. Will’s hushed voice is in his ear. Whispering it’s all right, he was wonderful, beautiful. Perfect.

He’s lowered to the bed. Bit by bit, the rope is carefully loosened, uncoiled from his limbs and torso. It’s cold.

Until Will climbs into bed beside him, presses close. Fingers tracing over the angry red marks left behind by the rope.

Hannibal shivers.

“Thank you,” Will murmurs against Hannibal’s cheek. His hands soothe down Hannibal’s back, warming his skin.

What reason does Will have to thank him? Hannibal tries to ask, but his voice won’t come. He can’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. Will knows what to do. What Hannibal needs.

He nestles against Will’s body, and sighs. Later, he will want to examine the way Will so easily breaks him down. But for now, he contents himself with being put back together.


End file.
